


And Now Your Dream Is Real

by Paian



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: 100-1000 Words, 500-999 words, Blow Job, Chair Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn Battle, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-04
Updated: 2007-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack never let himself fantasize about doing Daniel while he was reading. Now he can do it for real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Now Your Dream Is Real

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 'hieroglyphics.'

Daniel must have felt his gaze for a while, but didn't pause until he reached a page turn. Then he looked up without lifting his head, just a liquid shift of blue eyes, the slightest rise of dark brows gilded blond at the top by the sun.

"Nuthin'," Jack replied to the tacit inquiry, smiling a little, dark and dreamy. Daniel's gaze dropped incrementally, pointedly, to the bulge in Jack's cargo pants. Jack smiled a little more, and ran the bottom of the beer bottle languidly up and down the length of it. Daniel cracked the smallest smile. Then, with the slightest suggestion of a head shake, he returned his attention to his book.

Most of it, anyway. The smile stayed. Under soft gray cotton, his response was obvious.

"Keep reading," Jack said to Daniel, and rolled off the sofa.

"OK," Daniel said, as if he saw no reason to stop.

Jack set his beer down on a coaster and pulled a seat cushion off the couch.

"Um ... Jack?"

"Just keep reading," Jack said, as he came over, and laid the cushion down at the foot of Daniel's chair.

He had to tell him twice more while he worked the sweats and underwear off his hips and under his butt. "Read it aloud to me," he said, settling in with one elbow on the arm of the chair, when Daniel's attention wandered again and the book sagged.

He waited until Daniel got started, until the rich low voice found the unthinking cadence of the scholar, and then he slid his mouth down over the erection pushing up from the ruck of Daniel's clothes.

"_Dès l'origine les images d'objets réels,_" Daniel read, "_premiers éléments de l'écriture hiéroglyphique ... _"

Bathed in that low voice, encouraged by every hitch and hesitation, Jack savored the sweetness in his mouth and let his mind drift back over all the fantasies he'd never let himself have -- all the Daniels he'd never been allowed to dream about. Daniel lounging on his side with one leg cocked up writing in his journal in their tent, Daniel reading in temp quarters with one knee hooked over the arm of a chair, Daniel sitting back with legs bent and spread in the cargo hold of a transport ship, elbows on a crate, book in hand ...

_"On chercherait d'ailleurs vainement dans l'Egypte entière des -- traces réelles de l'enfance -- de -- l'écriture ... "_

_Christ_ he loved that voice. Always shutting it down when all he wanted was to close his eyes and bask in the sound of it. Even halting, stumbling, it was beautiful. In French it was exquisite. He closed his eyes and let the musical words flow through him, bobbed slow and wet on the weeping hardness in his mouth.

"_Les -- inscriptions que décorent_ \-- oh -- fuck ... Jack ... _unnnnh_ ... "

Jack bobbed faster, wetter as Daniel started to come, a slurping suck that made its own counterpoint to the blur of moans Daniel's French had lapsed into. He gripped the sides of the chair hard and took Daniel deep just as he burst, working his throat on the pulsing head while his lips and tongue stroked and massaged the shaft. He got him so deep that his own face jammed Daniel's bucking hips down into the chair, backed by the power in his neck and shoulders and arms. The chair shook; its wooden feet slid along the carpet.

He dragged it back, with monumental effort. Daniel's hands rode the bunching muscles in his shoulders, and he felt an extra shiver of spasms cross his tongue and vibrate up into his palate. He stored that for later examination; Daniel's arousal responses formed their own set of hieroglyphics in Jack's mind, quasi-visualized connections between cause and effect, stimulus and reaction, an arcane conceptual system he was always adding to.

He came off slowly, cleaning up with his tongue as Daniel softened. He got the clothes back up, refastened. He stood up as soon as he could because his knees and his back were screaming, but he didn't show so much as a hint of a wince, since the application of raw muscle seemed to be a turn-on for Daniel that he hadn't known about. He slotted the cushion back into the sofa; then, since he was there, he lay down on it again, feet kicked up and over one arm, head on a throw pillow against the other. He reached for his beer, glanced at the new show that had come on ESPN, and looked back at Daniel.

"This book's a lot better than I remembered," Daniel remarked, expression bland, and turned the page.

Jack grunted acknowledgment and drank in, silently, the flush in Daniel's cheeks, the hot sparkle in the keen eyes scanning the lines, back and forth, back and forth.


End file.
